


something in the water (that makes me love you harder)

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Beach Holidays, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: Can all of their days be sweet and simple like this?
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Qian Kun/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36
Collections: nct title fest 2020





	something in the water (that makes me love you harder)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NCT Title Fic Fest.

Summer vacations are supposed to be for sleeping in, everyone likes to tell him, but Xiaojun enjoys getting out of bed no later than 5AM.

He gently floats up and out of his dreams and blinks open his eyes. The first thing he does, as always,  _ as always _ , is drag his arms out from beneath his pillow, roll over to his right and then look at Kun. He just looks. Admires. There’s not much light in the bedroom, but the alarm clock on the nightstand glows brightly enough for Xiaojun to watch Kun slowly breathe in and out, the corners of his lips turned up in the tiniest smile as he dreams. Having gotten his fill, Xiaojun rolls away. He slips out of bed, peels out of his pajamas, changes into his workout clothes and then moves through the rented beach house on quiet feet so that he won’t wake Kun. 

When they had first started doing this, they’d gone with something small. Tiny little one-bedrooms. Quaint little shacks. But then they always ran out of places to put things, never had the space to spread out and work on projects, and could hardly invite over the friends they’d made without running out of chairs.

This year, though, they’d saved a bit more money and rented something larger. They needed it, with their two big Rottweilers and Kun’s ever-growing collection of surfboards and their almost-weekly barbecues where half the neighborhood shows up.

In the kitchen, Xiaojun eats quick and light - half a protein shake and a bagel for the fiber - and then he takes his keys with him out the door.

The beach house is key lime green with white trim and sits up high on wooden stilts. The staircase down to street level is long and creaky and the bottom steps get a little slippery from the build-up of sand, but Xiaojun keeps a hand on the railing for balance and walks down the grassy slope to the beach.

He just takes a moment to breathe it all in. Not just the fresh, salt-tinged air but  _ everything _ .

The quiet of the early morning. The whistle of the breeze through the palm trees. The gentle, rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore. It’s too early even for the seagulls to be up and about. 

Xiaojun starts his favorite sequence of stretches, arms first, then neck, then shoulders and back, then legs.

By the time he’s properly warmed up, the sky in front of him is only just beginning to soften and brighten with dawn.

Xiaojun loves this beach. Ever since his family vacations here as a child. Year after year he likes to come here. When his family stopped going regularly, he kept up the tradition with friends. And now that he’s an adult, now that he's grown, he comes out here with his lover. Xiaojun can’t really explain why the water is so special to him. He just loves the ocean and the salt air and the sand between his toes. 

Kun is… less inclined, but he comes with Xiaojun each summer anyway. That’s what love is. 

Besides, Xiaojun will give Kun a month or so of his own time to accompany him to the mountains in the fall.

They both take turns to give.

That’s what love is.

Xiaojun starts his run. Towards the south end. Nice and easy at first. A warm up. 

His favorite path is right along the edge between dry sand and wet sand. Right along the line where the tide crashes and recedes. The ground there is flat and sturdy enough to run on without his shoes sinking in.

He passes the dark, blocky shapes of the other rental houses. Some of them small and cute, some of them larger and spacious, one or two here and there just dripping with seaside luxury. Then the quieter neighborhood gives way to the more tourist-heavy commercialized area. He runs parallel to the boardwalk and glances up at the big, blocky shapes of the hotels and restaurants sprinkled between the modern structures of the resorts.

As the minutes pass and the sky morphs from blue to purple to orange with sunrise, the beach comes alive around him.

Seagulls take flight and start up their cacophonous squawking. The big pier slowly fills with fishermen and birdwatchers. The beach gets crowded with more and more joggers and dog walkers, all of them out here this early to beat the heat and escape the tourists.

Xiaojun spots a familiar face running in the opposite direction. Ten, from overseas, jogging with dumbbells clutched tight in both hands, shirtless and tattooed, earphones in and music loud. They nod to each other in recognition as they pass. Neither of them slow, though Xiaojun kind of wishes they could talk. Ten vacationed out here last summer, Xiaojun remembers, and quite possibly the year before that. Ten’s a kind guy, from what Xiaojun’s gotten from all of their conversations after bumping into each other at the grocery store, but the guy’s turned down all of Xiaojun’s barbecue invites. 

Perhaps he’s shy.

The sun is a deep red circle hovering right above the horizon when Xiaojun reaches the southern tip of the beach. The sand turns to steep grassy dunes and then to a short, craggy cliff. Hands on his hips, Xiaojun twists his torso and stretches his legs. The inlet is in front of him, between him and the cliff, and one of the big fishing boats is barely more than a silhouette as it chugs past him and out into the ocean.

Not wanting his heart rate to steady too much, Xiaojun turns and heads north back up the beach. He sets a faster pace and really has to focus on keeping his back straight and his arms close to his chest. At the new speed, he feels the burn of the exercise in his calves. Feels the pressure build up in his lungs.

He watches the sun rise and rise, stretching its glittering reflection across the tops of the waves. He watches the sky brighten to the purest blue. He sees the dark shapes of the boats out on the water and, between them, Xiaojun catches glimpses of dolphins breaking the glittering surface of the ocean.

It’s so calming. It’s so miraculous.

Before Xiaojun realizes, he’s passing by the beach house and is more than a little surprised to spot Kun outside. Instead of continuing on to the north end of the beach like he usually does, he cuts across the beach and climbs the sandy path back up to the street in front of the house.

“There you are, my love,” Kun says. He doesn’t even turn around as he hears Xiaojun’s shuffling steps behind him.

“You’re up early,” Xiaojun tells him. Then he catches sight of the large black bucket in Kun’s hand and snorts. “You’re washing the car  _ again _ ?” He’d done it yesterday!

Kun finally turns to look at him. “Hell yeah, I am.” He’s in one of Xiaojun’s too-small-for-him shirts and wears one of his brightest pairs of boardshorts. “There’s this really hot guy who absolutely loves watching me bend over. I’m trying to attract him.” He sets the bucket down next to the convertible’s front bumper then dramatically bends at the waist until his boardshorts absolutely  _ cling _ to his pert, round ass. “Is it working?”

Xiaojun snorts back a laugh. He steps forward and gently pats Kun’s ass. “It’s definitely working.”

“No, but really,” Kun adds, “we’ve got company coming over today. Everything’s gotta shine.” He shakes his ass with a bit more determination.

It must be the sound of Xiaojun’s giggles that alerts the dogs. The two of them come bounding from around the front of the house and happily run towards Xiaojun. It takes him a moment to choose between continuing to pet Kun’s ass as the older man wiggles it around or to turn and pet the dogs but the two Rottweilers make the decision for him by nearly knocking him over as they run up to him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tells the two big boys sternly. “No jumping.” But whether they understand him or not, he leans down to fling his arms around both of them, rubbing their backs.

The fatter one, with wild stripes of brown across his chest, is Zhang Fei. The sleeker one, with one stripe of brown down his neck towards his belly like a beard, is Guan Yu.

Xiaojun’s had them since they were puppies. Before he ever met Kun. But it’s kind of like they raised them together.

“They didn’t wake you up, did they,” Xiaojun asks. The brothers had a tendency to bark whenever they needed to be let out.

“They were angels, Xiaojun,” Kun responds. He wipes a soapy sponge across the hood of the car in a slow circle. “I woke them up trying to get the bag of charcoal down the steps.”

“You could have waited for me. It took both of us to lug it out of the hardware store.”

“Xiaojun, I love you,” Kun tells him flatly, “but my accident was eight or nine months ago. I’m alright with lifting things. I’m careful.” He points across the yard to the grill. The big bag of charcoal sits next to it, ready for Xiaojun.

Xiaojun stands up. He approaches Kun and slips his arms around the man’s wide waist from behind. Kun stops washing the car to twist around in his arms and hug him back. “Thank you for worrying about me,” he mouths against Xiaojun’s cheek. Then, in a louder voice, he says, “Now go finish your run. You put on sunscreen?”

“I didn’t, actually,” Xiaojun says.

Kun nudges him away. “No need to bother with it now if you’re this sweaty. Get back out there. Do you trust me to make breakfast?”

Xiaojun spends a few seconds thinking about it. Then he eventually decides on, “Watch where you turn those knobs.”

Kun goes back to washing the car. “Sure thing, babe.”

“Oh. One more thing,” Xiaojun speaks up before he forgets. “Can you take the hose and rinse all that sand off the bottom stairs?”

Kun smiles. “Sure.”

Xiaojun does some toe touches to ease his heart rate back up and then turns back to the beach.

The sun’s up now, bright and full, and he can feel the temperature steadily rise.

It’s going to be a good day, he hopes. He believes. The weather is supposed to be the most tepid it has been all week, which is a blessing considering Xiaojun will be outside half the day.

They went shopping the other evening but he gets the sinking sensation that there may be an ingredient or two or a few sides that he’ll need to run out and pick up.

“Xiaojun!”

He nearly skids to a halt on the slick, wet sand when he hears his name.

“Xiaojun!”

He turns his head to see Yangyang coming down the steps of one of the smaller, older rentals. “Morning,” Xiaojun calls up at the young man. 

The cooler he is carrying is so large and Yangyang’s swimwear is so short that, for a moment, Xiaojun thinks the guy is coming down the steps naked. Then Yangyang hoists the cooler up closer to his chest and reveals the white shorts that fit his narrow body like a second skin. 

Fear abated, Xiaojun jogs in place to keep his body in motion. “Starting early, aren’t you?” He motions towards the big blue cooler in Yangyang’s hands.

“We gotta hit the sand first thing,” Yangyang explains. “Claim a good spot and spread out before all those noisy families get out there.”

“Aren’t you a noisy family now,” Xiaojun has to ask.

“Hey, I’m not due until November,” comes a light, airy voice.

That’s when Xiaojun realizes that Li Qin, Yangyang’s high school sweetheart, is already standing at the bottom of the rental house’s outdoor stairs. Her bikini is stylish and stark white. She’s still early enough in her term to hardly be showing. Her large white hat and matching shades are ready to battle the sun for her. In her hand is the handle to a wagon full of fold-up chairs, rolls of towels, two big bags of cheddar jalapeno Lay’s and a hot pink umbrella. All the supplies you need for a morning on the sand.

Xiaojun says, “Don’t fill up too much. We’re starting at noon.”

By then, Yangyang’s at the bottom of the stairs. He adds the big cooler to the precarious pile of items in the wagon and then takes the handle from Li Qin to start the walk down the sandy slope. “Don’t worry, dude. We’ll be there early to get those burgers hot off the grill.”

“See you then,” Xiaojun calls out. He’s dilly-dallied long enough. There’s the entire north stretch of the beach to run and he still has to circle back.

The young couple wave him off and Xiaojun resumes his jog.

The north end is the quieter end of the beach. No gaudily-painted motels. No towering stucco hotels. No piers that reek of stale fish. The houses here are larger, spaced farther apart and actually belong to people as opposed to vacation companies who turn profit renting out the addresses. This end of the beach is also harder to jog on. It gets hillier and there are thicker patches of dune grass and what narrow strip of flat sand there is to use, it’s covered in washed-up seashells or numerous rocks.

Xiaojun goes as far as he can before he turns around and heads back the way he came. 

He’s getting a really good jog in. He feels the stress of exertion from his chest to his toes and he knows it’ll feel really good to shower off all this sweat.

Time passes in strange jumps and starts on the beach. Not fast enough at moments, too fast at others. Or at least that’s how it feels when Xiaojun glances up at the white-blue sky and realizes that mid-morning is already upon him.

Back towards the central length of the strip of beach, more and more families have set up their umbrellas and fold-out chairs. Music plays from portable speakers and a group of young women have started up a beach volleyball game. The ladies who run the bike rental shop are busy getting everything set up for the day and the family who work the jet ski rental lug equipment back and forth across the sand. It can’t be but 8AM or so but businesses out here rise with the tourists not the tide. 

“Xiaojun.”

And maybe it’s odd that so many people out here know his name. Maybe it’s exciting. He turns his head inland and spots Sicheng outside the colorfully painted surf shop. The beach has changed a lot over the years, as most places do, but the surf shop is the one building on this street that still looks exactly the same way it did when Xiaojun was a kid. From the rainbow flag above the peeling paint of the door to the baker’s dozen lucky cat statues that line the wooden steps.

“Morning, Sicheng,” Xiaojun calls out.

“Come here real quick,” Sicheng says instead of a proper greeting. Then he turns away without checking to see if Xiaojun follows him.

Still, Xiaojun switches directions and huffs his way up the steep wooden stairs that take him from the sand up to street level.

Sicheng vanishes inside the surf shop for several long seconds and then comes outside with a surfboard. It looks brand new. Long and wide and flat. Classic fish tail shape. Triple stringers down the middle for stability. But it’s not the surfboard itself that matters. It’s the gorgeous mural Sicheng painted over it that does. He says, “Glad you’re here. Saves me from making phone calls.”

Xiaojun takes a moment to look at it. The surfboard is taller than Sicheng. Beautiful fish with bright, vibrant scales swim through dark blue water near the tail but the majority of the board’s design is taken over by the mighty, open jaw of a quickly approaching shark. The linework is stylishly thick and makes the whole thing look like some giant tattoo. 

Sicheng’s outdone himself.

“Freshly sealed,” he announces. “Didn’t think I’d finish it for another week but I got high a day or so ago and it all came together in a night. Say hi to Kun for me.”

“I will,” Xiaojun says, still a little shocked by the detail and sparkle in the fish scales. 

“Will I see you two out on the waves today,” Sicheng asks. His hair is so long now. Even with most of it tied up into a knot near the top of his head, the majority of the wavy, brownish, sun-bleached locks still dangle into Sicheng’s face.

“No, it’s Saturday,” Xiaojun says. “We’re grilling out.”

“Oh yeah.” Sicheng steps forward. “I forgot you guys do that.”

Xiaojun’s in the middle of a jog and is definitely not in any position to lug a surfboard down the length of the beach but Sicheng thrusts the art piece towards him regardless. Xiaojun sighs and takes it from the man, then he hefts it up beneath his right armpit. “You coming today,” he asks. “To the cookout? We start at noon.”

“I’ve got work,” Sicheng says. 

“Oh. Well… Thanks, Sicheng. I mean it. This is wonderful. He’ll love it.”

“Alright.” And then Sicheng backs away and disappears into the shop again.

Sicheng is probably the only local Xiaojun is familiar with and he is probably the one person out here Xiaojun’s known the longest. They weren’t exactly childhood friends or anything, but Xiaojun was always in the surf shop as a kid, gawking at all of the pretty colors and shapes and watching all the surf vids on the televisions. Xiaojun definitely doesn’t know Sicheng the best, as the man usually only opens up to others when he’s out surfing waves, but every now and then, like just now, Sicheng takes a commission.

His jog interrupted, Xiaojun carries the board back to the house. Instead of wasting time going back down the steps to the beach, he stays street level. It’s a little weird, he thinks, to look at all of the houses from this side instead of the lower angle provided by being on the beach. The houses feel larger up close, up on their stilts. Laundry hanging on the clotheslines flap in the wind. Colorful flags flutter. Pinwheels spin and spin. When the surfboard gets too heavy under his arm, he lifts it up and uses both hands to balance it on top of his head. Xiaojun gets so caught up in just looking at everything that he  _ almost _ walks right by the house.

A bass-filled bark from Guan Yu is what snaps him out of his reverie and makes him stop and turn. “You boys are still outside,” he asks, as if the dogs can answer.

Zhang Fei’s nowhere to be seen as Xiaojun pushes open the house’s front gate and uses the tail-end of the surfboard as a barrier to keep Guan Yu from getting out past the fence.

Xiaojun starts across the yard. “Come on, boy. Where’s your brother?”

Guan Yu follows after him. His tongue lolls out of his mouth. His tail wags. Xiaojun hopes that means  _ He’s not too far _ in dog language.

Xiaojun checks the shade beneath the stilted part of the house but Zhang Fei isn’t there.

On the other side of the house, at the end of the driveway, the convertible is washed and dried which means Kun finished his work. But, more importantly, “He didn’t hose off the stairs!” Xiaojun groans in exasperation but he hoists the surfboard up the stairs to the tiny wrap-around porch. Zhang Fei isn’t hanging out beneath the patio table either. Xiaojun is about to get nervous when he sees that the back door is partially open. “Kun?” Xiaojun shouts into the kitchen as he pushes open the door. Guan Yu eagerly follows him inside.

Xiaojun kicks off his sand-covered athletic shoes and sits them by the door. Then he sets the surfboard upright against the washing machine.

When he gets no answer, he raises his voice. “Kun!”

From farther inside the house, he hears Zhang Fei’s heavy paws on the wooden floor as the big dog comes down the hall. He’s safe. That’s good.

Xiaojun shuts the back door a bit more firmly and lets Guan Yu lead the way out of the laundry room and into the kitchen. Xiaojun decides against shouting Kun’s name again. He was probably in the middle of a project, trekking in and out of the house, and forgot to shut the door behind him.

Xiaojun stretches his arms above his head and finds his cellphone on the kitchen island where he accidentally left it before his jog. He’s got two missed calls from Yukhei but Xiaojun’s got no intention of calling the man back. He’ll do nothing but talk Xiaojun’s ear off for the next two hours and he’s already got a busy enough morning ahead of him. Yukhei knows where the house is. He knows what time they’ll start. If whatever he’s got to say is important enough to him, he’ll spend those two hours talking Xiaojun to death at the cookout. He sets his phone back on the island and turns towards the stove to see what Kun’s made them for breakfast.

His partner’s idea of ‘breakfast’ boils down to a handful of dry, half-charred sunny side up eggs, a big bowl of hot oatmeal still bubbling a bit in the pot, a few slices of bread laid out on a plate that he didn’t bother to run through the toaster, and… there’s also a large pitcher of some vibrant green juice sitting out on the kitchen counter. Xiaojun wastes no time pouring himself a glass and then tipping his head back to chug it. He has no clue why Kun loves these cheap off-brand drinks that are practically nothing but corn syrup, sugar and food coloring but he  _ can _ admit that this one has a nice, tingly flavor to it. “Strawberry kiwi,” he wonders, and then tips more of it down his throat.

Kun turns the corner into the kitchen only to widen his eyes in horror as he watches Xiaojun empty the glass. “Shit! Babe! You can’t just gulp that down in one go. There’s alcohol in there!”

“Alcohol,” Xiaojun repeats dumbly. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and then spins around to check the clock on the oven. “It’s not even 9AM!” 

“I’m not drinking  _ all of it _ ,” Kun lets him know. “It’s for our guests.” He’s still in the too-tight shirt and boardshorts he’d been earlier that morning. Except now the shirt is sweaty and a bit transparent from working outside and his dark hair sticks to the sides of his face with dampness. 

He’s beautiful.

“Still,” says Xiaojun, “why do you want the alcohol to look like melted freezer pops?”

Kun crosses the kitchen and pries the empty glass from Xiaojun’s hand. “Figured it would be cheaper to mix something up myself instead of buying so many expensive bottles.” He shakes the empty glass. “What do you think?”

“You were light on the pour. I can’t even tell it’s spiked. It’s why I chugged the whole thing.”

“I’ve got another can I can mix in.”

“Good. It needs it. Stir in two, actually.”

“Xiaojun, I’m going for a light, summery backyard buzz here. No one’s passing out on the couch tonight.”

Fair point. Yangyang’s old high school friend Renjun had spent the night and half the morning passed out drunk on their couch one of their first weeks out here. Then, in the morning, the younger man proceeded to watch TV, ignored suggestions to help do chores, played with the dogs and drank up all of Kun’s soda like he was their adopted child or something. Xiaojun and Kun had to fake getting ready to go out to lunch just to get Renjun to put on his shoes and leave.

“Alright. Just add a little more,” Xiaojun compromises. “Save the rest for us. We’ll drink it tonight.”

“Fair,” Kun says. Then his expression changes. “Still, though. You should drink some water. That’s gonna go straight to your head.”

“You think I’m a high school kid getting buzzed off spiked seltzer water? I’ll be fine.”

Kun frowns at him. “Drink some water. You just finished working out. Bet you had nothing but a protein shake this morning.”

The accuracy is uncanny.

“Fine.” 

Kun goes to the fridge and shoves the glass beneath the water dispenser in the door. It takes a while but he fills it up to the top, then he comes back across the kitchen and hands the glass to Xiaojun.

Xiaojun takes it from him. “You were just standing over there but you didn’t see it?”

“Didn’t see what,” Kun asks him. He gasps. “A bug?”

“No.”

Kun turns back towards the fridge only to repeat “Didn’t see wha-” His breath hitches.

Xiaojun smirks and lifts the glass to his mouth. The water is ice cold in his hands and down his throat but his stomach warms with fondness as he watches Kun’s face light up.

“Babe,” Kun screeches, high and loud enough to get a bark out of one of the dogs. “Oh my god. Sicheng said he wouldn’t be done until next week.” Like a kid after the ice cream truck he takes off running across the kitchen’s tiled floor and practically leaps through the air to get his hands around the surfboard. “Sicheng  _ knows _ how much I love sharks. Oh my god!”

“He says hey,” Xiaojun tells him after taking a sip of water. 

“This is amazing. Better than I thought it would be!”

“You gonna take her for a spin? He said he sealed it.”

Kun whirls around to look at him like he’s just suggested arson. “I’m not getting a scratch on the thing. When we’re back home, I’m mounting it on the wall.” 

“Not above the couch, I hope,” Xiaojun says. Because  _ good lord  _ it would clash with everything.

“Where else is it gonna go?”

“Not above the couch,” Xiaojun repeats. Then he softens the blow. “Not after how long it took me to get up all of those picture frames. Get them all even and straight.”

Kun knows he’s going to get shot down but asks, “Bedroom?” anyway.

Xiaojun almost considers it. There’s not really as strong a design style or color scheme in the bedroom as there is in the living room. But, still, does he want a surfboard hanging on the wall above their bed? “Nah.”

“Dining room, then,” Kun attempts. He tilts his head one way and then the other as if attempting to picture how the board will look turned horizontal.

Xiaojun sets down his now empty glass of water. “How about the office?” A place where guests won’t be immediately assaulted by the sight of rows of bloody shark teeth.

Kun’s eyes go wide. “In the office! Oh my god. It’ll match the curtains. They’re blue.”

Not the strongest reason but Xiaojun will take it. They hadn’t had the house very long. It didn’t have to be  _ perfect _ . Yet.

Xiaojun shakes out his athletic shirt. His sweat is starting to dry and he feels icky. “I’m gross.”

“You know what that means, don’t you?” Kun crosses the kitchen. With his calloused hands, he pins Xiaojun to the kitchen counter and attempts to kiss Xiaojun’s neck.

“Stop it,” Xiaojun whines. An excited tingle races up his spine from such mild contact. The spark is still there. After all these years. He lightly pushes Kun away. “I’m sweaty.   
  


“Babe, I’m sweaty too.” Kun presses in close again. “You know what this means?” He goes in for another kiss but this time Xiaojun lets Kun kiss his neck, his chin, and finally his mouth.

The two of them smell awful but the kiss is warm and tingly and both of their mouths taste like sugary strawberry kiwi. “Tell me,” Xiaojun exhales against Kun’s mouth.

Kun pulls away. “We can shower together.” He grins. “And then get gross and sweaty all over again.”

Such a lovely proposition, but-- “Do you know how long it takes for charcoal to heat up and get going? We start at noon and I’ve got like twenty people to cook for and less than three hours to do it.”

It’s the truth but it still makes Kun pout. “Not even a quickie? You know I only need like ten good minutes. Remember college?”

Xiaojun narrows his eyes.

“Seven minutes. Honest,” Kun corrects. He holds up three fingers like he’s swearing a scout oath. “No. I can make it five if we get straight to it.”

And Xiaojun feels heat build in his gut. Fiery. Instinctive. Pink flushes across his cheeks. He wants Kun. He  _ yearns _ . But there’s so much Xiaojun has to do to prep for the cookout. So much food needs grilling! All the drinks need to be put on ice. He’s got to get Kun to help him sit all the chairs out in the lawn. And he’s short on time already. He’s getting a later start than he needs since he had to walk the length of the beach instead of jog. But Kun… The loving way Kun looks at him, eyes sparking. The way Kun smiles at him, so in love. The way Kun touches him. Wants him. The warmth of their interlocked fingers. The electric heat between their heaving chests. Xiaojun’s never been able to put up much of a fight in front of the man. Shit… It’s not the smartest thing to do, but-- “Go hose off the stairs.”

Kun practically recoils. “Really?”

Xiaojun pushes himself up off the counter and slips out from between Kun’s arms. More firmly, he says, “Hose off the stairs. Feed the dogs.” Then he lets the hardened edge slip out of his tone. Now he’s all seduction. He pulls his shirt up over his head and exposes his lean, muscled torso. He tugs down his jogging shorts  _ just a tad _ . “Then meet me in the shower. I’ll be ready for you by then.”

Kun goes running for the door.

🏄

The two of them will have to add ‘scrubbing out the shower’ to their list of Sunday chores but making the mess was worth it. 

On this vacation, they’d had plenty of long, languid nights in which they both took their time and made every moment honey sweet. And then started all over again. 

But… there was just something so  _ different _ about discarding all pretenses. About skipping ahead of the line, so to speak. It kind of makes the love burn a little brighter, a little faster, to feel Kun’s fist in his hair. To feel Kun practically pin him to the glass shower door and  _ take him _ . Fast and hard and definitely for longer than five minutes.

When they’re all cleaned up and dressed, Xiaojun feels more energized and ready to start his day now than he did after his morning jog.

But now the real work begins.

Out in the yard, Xiaojun stacks charcoal bricks at the bottom of the grill, coats them thoroughly with lighter fluid and then uses the long-necked lighter to set it all ablaze. 

The fire rushes up instantly, a towering pyre, but Xiaojun knows most of it is just for show. Charcoal can be unforgiving. Leave it unattended for too long and the heat won’t catch. Burn it too hot and too high and it’s a waste. It’s a careful game of tug of war between the lighter fluid and patience. Yet you need both sides to win.

While he monitors the grill and sets out aluminum trays full of meats and vegetables, Kun hikes up and down the stairs with their colorful assortment of lawn chairs. Only two of them came with the rental but the couple are prepared. After years of doing this, after years of summering on this beach, they’ve learned to buy and bring their own chairs. Red ones. Pink ones. White ones. Plastic ones. Padded ones. Really, it’s whatever is on sale when they’re out buying something totally different.

Still a little high on lust, Xiaojun watches Kun work. Watches the bulge of his muscles as he lifts and carries. As a whole new batch of sweat clings to his chest and turns his white shirt near see-through. There’s a chance they will both have to go for a shower again before their guests show.

But the next time, it definitely won’t be longer than five minutes.

“The boys want to come out,” Kun says the next time he reaches the bottom of the stairs. He’s got a small card table hoisted up onto his shoulder. One of many they’ll space around the yard.

Xiaojun glances around the grill to make sure they won’t have easy access to something they shouldn’t have easy access to. He’s certain he’s in the clear. “Let them,” he shouts back. It’ll give them time to enjoy the sun and take care of their business. “They’ll have to stay inside when the guests come over.”

“Of course.” Kun sets up the table and is about to go back upstairs when he notices the downward slant of his lover’s eyebrows. “You need anything?”

“More aluminum foil,” Xiaojun says.

“I’ll see if we have another roll.”

“Thanks.” 

“Anything, babe. Anything.” And then Kun heads up the stairs.

Xiaojun’s just about got the coals where he needs them. They’ve gone gray with heat and whenever the wind picks up, a lovely plume of white smoke goes billowing into the air. He’s glad he remembered to take down the laundry yesterday evening. Last weekend, he’d forgotten to and their clothes smelled like smoke for days. He uses a pair of tongs to poke and prod at the coals, more evenly spread them out across the bottom of the grill. He’ll get the vegetables charred up first. They won’t take but a few minutes. It’s the meat that’ll require a bit more time.

A few seconds later, Guan Yu and Zhang Fei come down the stairs, the tags on their collars jangling like bells.

It hasn’t been that long since they’ve been outside but they act like it’s their first time outside today. Xiaojun envies them. Every day, he strives more and more to live that happily all of the time.

Maybe one day he’ll come close.

“I wonder if Ten doesn’t come over because he doesn’t eat meat or something.” He’s got plenty of vegetables this time around. Bell peppers and onions and potatoes to go with the steak. Corn and beans. But Xiaojun’s not entirely sure why Ten is running through his mind in the first place until he realizes that he can  _ see _ Ten.

There he is. On the other side of the fence. A few houses down. Walking up the street towards the south end of the beach.

Xiaojun stares down at his charcoal long enough to ensure that they are burning just fine across the bottom of the grill, then he walks up to the fence, ready to attempt to invite Ten over again.

But Ten is not alone.

Xiaojun gets a little closer to the fence and Ten is no longer partially blocked by the limbs of a neighbor’s tree.

Next to Ten, a tall man in a black shirt and denim shorts leans close to his ear and says something that gets them both giggling. It’s an odd sight. Xiaojun’s been running into Ten up and down the beach for the past six weeks and he’s positive that he’s never seen Ten smile like this before. Wide. With all of his teeth showing. Cheeks all bunched up with his eyes crinkling.

It almost feels like Xiaojun’s intruding… But he doesn’t want Ten to feel left out. Even if he says no, Xiaojun still wants to invite him each week.

He props his elbows on the fence and gets up on his tiptoes. “Ten. Good morning,” he cheerily shouts. What time is it? It’s still before noon. It’s still morning. “Ten!”

But he realizes that his loud, overfamiliar shout breaks their spell of happiness.

Ten jolts away from the tall man next to him and Xiaojun realizes a bit belatedly that the two of them had been holding hands. 

Xiaojun keeps his face even. “Cookout starts in about two hours. We’re just getting stuff on the grill. There’s plenty of seats. Plenty of drinks. Wanna come around?”

It’s a fair invitation, he thinks. And so does the tall man if his smile has any say so.

But Ten says, “No.”

The tall man turns to look at him, his eyes wide, his expression confused. Almost hurt.

Ten visibly swallows like he’s got a frog in his throat.

“Why not,” Xiaojun attempts.

The tall man looks from Ten to Xiaojun and then back to Ten.

“I’m busy,” Ten attempts.

The tall man attempts to reach for him but Ten steps away from him.

Xiaojun feels his heart sink. This isn’t going the way he wishes it to.

“Babe,” Kun shouts from the other end of the yard. His timing is either impeccable or horrendous. “Babe, where’d you go? Did you fall into the grill?”

“I’m by the fence,” Xiaojun shouts back. He doesn’t want to turn his head in Kun’s direction in case Ten decides to run for it when he’s not watching. He looks like he would.

Moments later, Kun steps up behind Xiaojun and gently knocks the roll of aluminum foil against his head. 

It’s so silly and stupid but it breaks the tension Xiaojun hadn't realized he’d been holding in his spine and shoulders. He relaxes. He can’t help but to laugh and snatch the roll of aluminum foil. “Thanks.”

“Anything, babe.” And Kun gives him this adorable little smile. Like he’s got the biggest crush even though they’ve been together for years. Far too late, Kun realizes they have company. “Who’s this?” He waves a hand over the fence towards Ten and his friend.

“I’m Johnny and this is my boyfriend, Ten,” the tall man says in stilted-enough Mandarin that Xiaojun immediately realizes he’s not fluent.

Ten’s face goes beet red at being called ‘boyfriend’ and now Xiaojun understands that Ten isn’t so much ‘shy’ as he is  _ in hiding _ . And Xiaojun kind of wants to break the ice and let him know things are fine but he’s not sure that’s a boundary he should cross.

Kun thinks it is, though. He places his fingers on Xiaojun’s chin, tilts his head so that they can face each other, and then he kisses Xiaojun on the mouth. Nothing raunchy. Nothing risque. Just sweet contact. Light and cool like the sea breeze. Happiness condensed. Kun pulls away and then looks back over the fence at Ten and Johnny. “You two coming to the cookout? We’ve always got plenty of food.”

And maybe there’s something in his boldness, in his confidence, in his easy pride, that makes Ten relax. Almost audibly sigh in relief.

It’s Johnny who says, “Yes. We’d love to come.”

“Starts at noon,” Xiaojun tells him. “Just come on in and make you a plate.”

It’s Ten who steps forward and bravely grabs Johnny’s hand. “We’ll be first in line.”

🏄

Xiaojun remembers how he first met Kun.

How they first met each other.

It was the oddest way to meet someone but it was the perfect way for them to meet each other.

This took place years ago now. Xiaojun had still been in college, he’s sure, so… Count up the time… Nine years? Ten? Wow. It’s been a decade. That’s _ forever _ but it’s been no time at all. That’s what love is.

They had met in the ocean. During the summer. In the water. Somewhere along this very beach so that’s how Xiaojun knows they were meant to be. 

Kun was on his surfboard. Xiaojun on his. The waves had been spectacular that day, Xiaojun remembers, from a storm on the other side of the horizon. No. A hurricane! Now he remembers. The stores had boarded up their windows and the tourists had long left the hotels. The sky had been cloudy and gray, the wind had been loud and high. Dangerous conditions all around but the surfers had been out in droves, sixteen or more of them, wanting to catch the huge ones rolling in. Honestly, truly, it was a situation where it should have been really easy to miss each other. With the chaotic waves and the raging wind and the sand swirling into the air and the crashing, crashing surf. 

It should have been easy for the two of them to climb out of the sea, water dripping off their wetsuits, and go home without ever having met. Without ever having spoken. Without ever having seen each other.

But they  _ had _ met that day. Like fate. Two waves crashing together and leading each other to shore.

Xiaojun remembers the hurricane peeking out over the horizon. A swirling mass of noise and gray. He remembers hearing the wind howl as it whipped at his hair.

They had stayed in as long as they could but even the veteran surfers were getting uncomfortable with the height of the waves and their shouts carried over the wind, instructions to get back on land.

It was the right idea. The hurricane would be on top of them in minutes and many of them still had blocks to walk to get back to the safety of a building.

Yes. Xiaojun had to have been in college, then, hanging on the beach with his friends. There was no way his parents would have let him out onto the beach in such weather. Hell, they’d have packed their bags and left town long before the hurricane even showed!

Xiaojun was one of the last out of the water, paddling to shore before the current swept him too far out. A wave had brought him nearly shoulder to shoulder with Kun but, still, they didn’t look at each other. Didn’t speak. They dragged their boards out of the sea and began walking up the beach but they hadn’t gotten far.

A news station reporter had been there, waiting. She hadn’t gotten much out of the other surfers but she’d be damned if she didn’t get something out of these two. She had boldly cornered them with her microphone, her cameraman right at her heels, his poncho whipping around him and his equipment in the wind. The woman had pointed to the choppy waves and swirling storm and asked Xiaojun and Kun why they’d risk getting hurt in the wild current just to surf. And Xiaojun and Kun hadn’t known each other at all, hadn’t even known they went to the same school and stayed in the same dorm, but they had looked at each other then, made an electric jolt of eye contact and then turned straight towards the lens of the camera to say, in tandem, “Because it’s fun,” with the largest smiles on their faces.

And the reporter had turned towards the camera then and, trying and failing to hide her grin, told the audience watching from home that, “There must be something in the water.”

🏄

Just like they promised, Ten and Johnny show up first.

Right at noon - exactly - as if they timed the walk from the south end to here. Like they counted the seconds.

“Wow, they’re prompt,” Xiaojun says beneath his hand as he turns away from the grill.

“At least they aren’t late,” Kun mutters back. “Or worse… early.”

And they should count their blessings because, well, not even five minutes ago Xiaojun and Kun were… taking another shower. Yeah.

Xiaojun realizes that Johnny is struggling with the funky latch on the gate. “Pull it straight up,” Xiaojun guides him. “Then yank it back.”

Johnny follows the directions and manages to get the gate to swing open on his next try.

“Come on in,” Kun shouts. “The water’s fine!”

“We have no pool,” Xiaojun tells the two of them.

But this must be news to Kun. He swats Xiaojun’s arm, keeping with the joke. “What? We don’t?” Then he snaps his fingers as it hits him. “We _do_.”

And Xiaojun knows where he’s going with this because he thought the exact same thing. “You are  _ not _ going to drag out that inflatable pool we wash the boys in!”

“It’ll be fine,” Kun says. “I’ll hose it down twice before filling it up.”

“You aren’t going to do that. No one brought swimwear because we don’t have a pool.”

“We can just stand in it.”

“No!”

“Why not? It would be perfect for a day like this.”

“It’s for the  _ dogs _ ,” Xiaojun hisses through clenched teeth. Then he looks back over at Johnny and Ten who still watch them, stock still, half-worried and half-entertained. Xiaojun gives his best smile. “Don’t mind him. At all.”

“I will walk down the street to the supercenter and buy another inflatable pool.”

“You will not,” Xiaojun says without looking over at him. He keeps his grin aimed at their guests. “Please, don’t stand around here. The food is that way.”

“Don’t rush them away,” Kun contradicts him. “This is my first time really meeting either of them!”

“It’s a pleasure,” says Johnny.

Ten doesn’t look pleased. He looks a little flustered, a little pale like he’s one breath away from chucking up the last thing he ate, but Johnny squeezes Ten’s hand reassuringly and it’s like Ten remembers to breathe again. Remembers to smile again. In a tiny voice, he says, “Thanks for having us over.”

“Anytime,” Kun tells him honestly.

“We’ve talked this through,” Johnny says. He lightly tugs on Ten’s hand to draw him one step closer to the conversation. “And we’re really grateful to you for reaching out a hand. This is only our third or fourth summer out here and we’ve… been struggling to make friends.”

Ten nods as if to validate the information.

And it’s odd but fun how Xiaojun’s never met Johnny before but he already feels like he  _ knows _ him. Maybe it’s because he sees so much of Kun in Johnny. Such familiar behavior. Because it’s not always about screaming your love from the rooftops so that everybody knows. Sometimes it’s just about the quiet moments. 

Johnny is Ten’s anchor and he does it just by standing there. Next to Ten.

“I’m gonna go turn the music up,” says Kun. And he twirls away to go hunt down the Bluetooth speaker.

“Don’t subject us to the 80s playlist again,” Xiaojun shouts after him.

It’s like his plan has been discovered. Kun throws up his hands in surrender. “Oh, come on!”

“Just play the early 2000s stuff,” Xiaojun insists. “You had your fun last week. It’s my turn.”

Kun lets out half a groan of frustration but then turns it into a “Love you, babe,” halfway through.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Ten says quietly, bringing Xiaojun’s attention back to him. “Not just this time but… all the other times. I’m… I’m always sorry-- I mean. I’m sorry for always saying no earlier.” And then Ten turns to Johnny. “Is that… Does that--”

And Johnny knows what he’s trying to say even though he can’t seem to say it. “That covers it, Ten. You did well.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry for not coming. If you didn’t want to come, you didn’t have to,” says Xiaojun.

“But I always wanted to come over,” Ten says. And that’s all the energy he’s got for talking because he almost physically retreats behind Johnny’s taller frame.

Johnny just gives Xiaojun a tiny smile and then he leads Ten by the hand, further into the yard, towards the table where the plates and condiments are set up.

Xiaojun watches them go.

Maybe Ten really is just  _ shy _ . And maybe that’s why Xiaojun’s never gotten much out of him when they crossed paths on their morning jogs or at the grocery store. Johnny’s patience and gentle coaching is exactly what the guy needs.

Maybe that’s what love is.

The neighbors start to show up next. The married couple from the lemon-yellow house on one side of them. The single mother and her teenage son from the violet house on the other side of them.

The next person who arrives is Sicheng, which surprises Xiaojun so much that he forgets how to speak for several seconds, even as Sicheng furrows his brow at him. Then he shakes himself out of his stupor and asks, “I thought you had work?”

“Now I don’t,” Sicheng says flatly. And maybe that would be rude coming from anyone else but it’s Sicheng so it’s okay.

“Thanks again for the surfboard. We’re gonna hang it in the office back home. It’ll be worth millions some day but we’ll never sell it.”

And Sicheng’s icy aloofness burns away briefly. Very, very briefly. A blink and you missed it sort of thing. He hides his smile beneath his fist. “That’s cool, Xiaojun. Means a lot.”

Xiaojun waves him towards the tables and the chairs and the glorious early aughts music. “Beer’s in the brown cooler. Soda’s in the blue. Kun remembered you like Diet Mountain Dew.”

Sicheng’s smile is harder to hide the second time around. “Thanks.”

One by one, other people come through. The middle-aged lesbian couple who introduced Xiaojun to the real estate agent they worked with. The aging man who used to run the used bookshop. Taeil who owns that super niche tteokbokki restaurant in the middle of downtown and Yuta who sells takoyaki out of the back of his food truck.

One by one, the yard fills with new voices and more noise and it slowly starts to feel like a real party.

The sky is so clear and cloudless. The sun is so bright and it’s so high up in the air that the shadows of the palm trees do not stretch across the lawn. They need shade. Xiaojun abandons his post by the gate and tracks down Kun next to the beer cooler to help him crank open the big umbrellas and prop them up near the clusters of chairs.

Yukhei shows up at around 1PM and ignores everyone else to cut a beeline across the yard straight to his friend. “Xiaojun, why have you been ignoring my calls all day? Did you listen to my emails? Did you read my voicemails? Oh. You’ve been busy setting all this up today. Right? Well, I’m here so let me tell you something. I’ve got the best gossip.”

“I’m sure you do,” Xiaojun tells him the second Yukhei takes a breath. He finds Kun’s mixed drink in the big beverage dispenser and pours himself a cup. Kun did stir in more alcohol. Enough to burn the back of the throat in the faintest of ways. A step up. “Can it wait, though?”

Yukhei barrels on, totally relentless. “You’re not going to believe what happened. My friend from the hair salon heard it from the guy at the tattoo shop. This happened the other day. It was either Thursday or yesterday. No. Wait. I actually think it was Wednesday because-- It was Thursday! This happened Thursday. You see, I’ve got this friend--” And he stops talking so abruptly, so cleanly, that - for the briefest of blissful seconds - Xiaojun honestly believes he’s used the power of his mind to mute his friend. Then Yukhei sputters, smacks Xiaojun on the chest and points. “Who is that? Sitting in the blue chair?”

Xiaojun starts to turn around.

“Don’t be obvious,” Yukhei scolds him.

But it’s too late because Xiaojun’s already turned around and figured out who Yukhei is wildly gesturing at. “That’s Sicheng,” Xiaojun begins. And he can’t believe they haven’t actually met yet as long as he’s known them both. As long as they’ve both been coming to the cookouts. Maybe they’ve just never been here at the same time. But before Xiaojun can say another word, before he can make any offers to introduce them, Yukhei bolts across the yard, more than ready to talk Sicheng’s ear off. Xiaojun almost feels sorry for Sicheng but, hey, better anyone else in this yard than him.

Time passes. More food gets eaten. Xiaojun checks the grill to make sure it’s not too dangerously hot even though he poured water over the coals half an hour ago. He mingles when he can. Makes introductions when he can. Then pours himself more of Kun’s fruity mixed drink before he returns to his post by the gate.

One of the cashiers from the locally-owned grocery store shows up with a pineapple cake she made. A group of young guys who frequent the surf shop come through. Guanheng and his assistant Chenle show up with bottles of their own beer. As in, beer that they’ve actually, physically crafted by hand.

Kun wanders up to Xiaojun with a plate piled high with food and utensils. “Fixed you something,” he says. “You need to eat.”

So Xiaojun takes the plate, eases down into a chair and uses the knife to slice off a bit of steak. When he puts it into his mouth, he gasps. It’s delicious and tender. Juicy and almost soft. “This is your seasoning blend, right,” he asks.

“I can’t let you do all the work,” Kun lets him know. “We need to share it to make things like today happen.” Then he kisses Xiaojun on the cheek and his greasy lips definitely leave remnants of some kind of sauce on Xiaojun’s face. Honey barbecue based on the smell.

“Gross,” he tells his lover. “You did that on purpose.”

“You weren’t supposed to be able to tell. It was just supposed to be there like how girls leave lipstick behind? It was supposed to be like that.”

“Gross,” Xiaojun repeats.

“You love it.”

“Only on certain days.”

“All the days that end in -day?”

But Xiaojun can’t say anything to refute that because the newlyweds show up with Renjun in tow. Yangyang and Li Qin step across the yard in matching yellow outfits with a tray of homemade cookies and it’s not until Xiaojun remembers the pineapple cake someone else brought that he realizes that he’s thought of everything except dessert!

Kun reads his mind. Or maybe he just sees the knit in Xiaojun’s brow. “It’s fine, babe. They brought enough to share.” And he runs a hand through Xiaojun’s hair.

Xiaojun starts, “But--”

“Today is perfect,” Kun cuts in. “Really perfect. Everyone’s happy. Look at them.”

And Xiaojun looks up to see their neighbors and friends dancing and eating and singing and laughing and drinking.

But then the resident emo rebel stands directly in front of them.

“Where are the warriors,” Renjun asks.

“Inside,” Xiaojun says. “If they’re sleeping, don’t wake them. No table food. One dog treat each and--”

“--and make them sit, lay down and roll over first,” Renjun finishes for him. “I know.” Then he squeezes between them to head towards the stairs.

He can be a little stubborn, Xiaojun thinks, but there’s also something refreshing about his directness.

“Do you want kids,” Kun asks, watching Renjun disappear inside.

“Give me three more years,” Xiaojun huffs. “Bare minimum.” Then he'll be thirty.

Kun looks over at him with an odd twinkle in his eye. “Are you serious?”

Xiaojun looks up at him, slightly confused. Hadn’t it been a joke? “Are  _ you _ serious?”

And Kun does look serious.

There is a moment between the two of them.

_ Do you want kids? _

“Nah,” they both shout at each other simultaneously. Loud and in sync as always.

That’s what love is.

🏄

“We can’t just sneak away from our own cookout,” Xiaojun hisses.

“We can,” Kun counters. “We will.” He tugs Xiaojun across the sand. “We  _ are _ .”

“What if something happens? What if they notice we’re missing?”

“Let them,” Kun tells him. He glances over his shoulder at Xiaojun and his face is on fire with the brightest, most loving smile. “If they really, truly know us after all of these years, they know where to go to find us.”

And the sky is ablaze with the washed-out glow of mid-afternoon and heat bakes the back of Xiaojun’s neck and Kun’s hand is as hot as a forge clamped around his wrist but… it’s fun. Xiaojun finds himself giggling. 

Kun tugs off his shoes and then struggles a little to peel out of his socks.

“What if the boys need us,” Xiaojun keeps going. He can come up with a dozen reasons to stop but he kicks off his flip-flops and allows Kun to keep pulling him and tugging him.

“Renjun is there,” says Kun. 

“We don’t have on swim trunks. We only have our clothes.”

“They’ll dry, babe. They’ll dry. I love you. Always will.”

“Love you too.”

Xiaojun doesn’t even have time to come up with more half-assed complaints because now they are ankle-deep in the frothy waves of the sea. The water is warm and tingles against Xiaojun’s skin. He loves the ocean. He really truly does.

Now they are knee-deep in the ocean.

Waist-deep.

Chest-deep.

Neck-deep.

A wave crashes over their heads and Xiaojun isn’t prepared for it. He sputters and laughs and shakes his hair out of his face, blinks the salt out of his eyes.

Kun kisses him. Xiaojun doesn’t even know it’s coming. Kun kisses him like it’s their first time even though they’ve had nearly a decade of each other.

Xiaojun’s eyes flutter closed. Kun’s mouth tastes like salt and summer and freedom and love so Xiaojun falls deep into it. He kisses back hard until they are both breathless. Until another wave crashes over their heads and knocks them dizzy.

They both laugh. They both spit out saltwater.

Then they kiss again and again.

There must be something in the water.


End file.
